The TwiceBorn

This Congregation of Strangers

"How dreadful...to be caught up in a game and have no idea of the rules."--Stevermer

The tug on her heart was a painful one and Alora grimaced as Yzebel pulled her invisible fingers away. She willed herself to sit tall and relaxed even though her skin, in days to come, would darken and bruise. 

Yzebel’s eyes rested on her, calm and resolute. Alora took her time dismounting.  Now that the moment had come around, she wasn’t as eager as she’d first thought to get her business done.  Everything looked familiar, but she had a feeling if she were able to look closer…maybe wave the smoke away and sharpen the view a bit…she’d see just a touch  of dark glee under all that fawning servility.

Well.

It wasn’t every day they got to see someone of her stature fall from grace amongst the merciless.  And judging from the sly glances and the titters she could hear off in the brush, everyone had been promised quite a show.  But certain formalities still had to be observed until…

until…

A young imp the color of ashes ran forward, slavering in his delight at being chosen, and presented her with a goblet of shadowjack.  Alora brought the cup to her lips, her eyes still on Yzebel.  The ground bone gave the bitter liquid a gritty taste and she could smell the heady wind-blown scent of sage as she took a deep swallow.  She dropped the fragile goblet and heard it shatter against the hard earth.

All around her, the hags cackled their approval and familiars raced towards Loki to run their odd little hands over his coat and to play in the coarse brush of his mane and tail.   Alora watched as Yzebel slowly made her way towards her.

The old hag moved  as though she worried about her ancient bones and a sudden mis-step but there was an underwater fluidity to her motion, a shrewd gracefulness she couldn’t hide.  Like an old toothless feline that inherently knew her claws were still sharp.  Again, Alora wondered if she’d sold Yzebel short.

While she had been scrounging about and going from town to town playing the trickster, maybe Yzebel had been honing her power and making deals. Cajoling and wheedling her way up and down that flimsy hierarchy of the UnderRealms. And maybe someone had paused long enough  to listen.

Yzebel stopped in front of her and Alora was suddenly afraid that the hag wasn’t just looking at her but could see inside her, inside and down deep, where she kept her feelings for Islinn hidden from everyone,even herself.

She’s struck a deal with someone.

Alora knew this as surely as she knew she’d underestimated the hag.  A tiny smirk rippled Yzebel’s lips and Alora suddenly had the impression that everyone watching was holding their breath, and trying to decide which side to choose.  And in her mind, she knew there should have been no question. 

After the slightest of hesitations that only she and Yzebel noticed, the hag dropped awkwardly to her knees.  Alora ground her teeth at the barely visable affront and was, once again, grateful for the flames that darkened and concealed her features. 

She took her time as she gazed out over Yzebel’s coven.  Rapt eyes stared back but it was an unflinching stare and Alora felt a sudden chill work its way under her skin.   The overwhelming urge to grab Yzebel by her shoulders and jerk her to her feet was almost overwhelming.

Old woman,what have you been doing behind my back?

Alora gave a tight smile and lifted her chin.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Yzebel shift uncomfortably but the hag wouldn’t rise until Alora allowed her to do so.  Custom.  Formality among the thralls.  Alora turned and faced Yzebel’s coven and ignored the sudden hiss of whispers at the obvious snub.